


Feeling Lucky

by likeadeuce



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-17
Updated: 2009-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-04 12:03:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeadeuce/pseuds/likeadeuce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cordy and Gunn go dancing, and one thing leads to another. . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeling Lucky

The low, insistent beat of dance music pulsed through Cordelia's body. She moved with the rhythm, swaying her hips as she watched well-toned men press against scarcely-clad women. Red, blue, and amber lights washed color into pale fabrics, as firm young bodies gyrated on the busy dance floor.

Cordelia put a hand on Gunn's neck and bent him down to yell, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Yeah," Gunn answered, raising his voice to be heard over the din. "This place sucks."

"Worse!" Cordelia dragged him toward the bar. She pulled out a chair and, once her ears stopped ringing, said, "It's much much worse than that. _We_ suck." He gave her a look. "All right, I suck! It's me. A couple years ago at the Bronze, I would have owned the dance floor. Guys would be all over me."

"Trying to suck your blood." Gunn's hand brushed her bare shoulder, a long finger tracing her collarbone. "Only problem, Queen C, is you're too sober. Pick your poison."

"Vodka tonic." She reached down the side of her skirt, and pulled out the roll of bills and ID she had stuck in the waistband of her underwear. "Remember -- my name's Chloe, I'm twenty-three, I'm from Wisconsin, and have I mentioned the one thing I like about drinking with demons is that they don't really care about proof of age? What?" Gunn's eyes lingered on the patch of ink-darkened skin peeking above her waistband. "Fine, I have a stupid tattoo. It says 'Luck,' in Chinese, okay? It seemed like a good idea at the time. Once I realized the cruel irony of applying that concept to my crappy life, I couldn't afford to remove it."

Gunn snapped the bills between his fingers and grinned. "I didn't say a word."

While he went to the bar, Cordelia rested her elbows against the table, pressed her eyes shut, and thought that the four Excedrin she had taken before leaving the house might not have been enough. She hadn't planned to go out tonight at all, but the sight of Wesley in formalwear – heading straight from the office to another swank evening party with his rich girlfriend -- proved too much. So Cordelia grabbed Gunn and ordered him to put on his dancing shoes (black Converse All-Stars – conveniently also his demon-fighting shoes) and take her out on the town.

All of which was great, except that someone had neglected to tell the town to make way for Cordelia. And apparently the same person had forgotten to give notice to her headaches. _Sure, Wesley, you can have a life. You missed out on the skull-splitting part of the do-gooder gig._

"Hey! It's you!" A voice sounded in her ear. "Man, I love your show."

"My --" Cordelia turned to looked into a smiling face attached to expensive wardrobe and -- the first thing a Sunnydale girl made sure to notice -- a deeply-tanned complexion. Cordelia raised a hand to flick the ends of her hair, shifting her shoulders in a way that accented her breasts. Dark eyes moved just enough to show he didn't miss the move, not enough to be a pig.

"Your show!" The man leaned forward, pointed to himself, and said, "I'm Brendan! I saw you across the room, knew you had to be in the business, and then I recognized –" He moved closer and she could smell his cologne. Real Armani, not that cheap-o body spray crap. "It's definitely my favorite new show."

"Oh, that's not me," laughed Cordelia. "Though actually –" and she decided she might as well be flattered to be the girl that a good-looking and only mildly sleazy guy would pretend to mistake for a starlet. It was apparently the best she was getting tonight. "Actually," Cordelia said, pronouncing words she hadn't said with confidence since the Stain-B-Gon disaster. "I am an actress."

"I thought you must be." He spoke in a resonant tone, just a little deeper and softer than it should have been. "I take pictures. People must come up all the time. Asking to shoot you."

Now Cordelia's smile froze a little. But after all, there were plenty of fashion photographers in Los Angeles. What were the chances that two of them went around trying to spread their demon spawn to unwilling hosts? Cordelia had been a little gun-shy since that experience, and no wonder. Maybe exactly what she needed to get back in the game was somebody just like Wilson Christopher – except not evil. It seemed easy enough. Leaning across the table so that he got a good eyeful of her breasts, she said, "My name's Chloe."

"Chloe," he said. "A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. With eyes like that, I could make you –"

"All right, all right," came Gunn's voice. He set a glass in front of Cordelia, then raised his own beer. "Whatever you're selling, she doesn't want any."

Brendan spread his hands and stepped back. "No trouble, man. I didn't realize." He pointed a finger at Cordelia and said, "Seriously, Chloe. A star."

Gunn curled a lip at Brendan's retreating back. Mimicking the deep velvet voice, he said, "Seriously, Chloe. A star."

"You!" Cordelia smacked his bicep.

"What?"

"Cock block!" she hissed.

"You have a _cock_? Since when?"

"You know what I mean. He was cute!" Cordy protested. "He was into me!"

"Right." Gunn rolled his eyes. "He was going to make you a star."

"What are you? The bad line police?"

"Yes." He crossed his arms and leaned across the table toward her. "Every time a beautiful woman falls for a bad line, baby Jesus cries."

"Great," she said, thinking, _Beautiful woman?_ "I'm trying to put myself out there and get my groove on and, and you're harshing my mellow by having 'standards.' Plus, everybody probably thinks you're my tall scary possessive boyfriend and – " She sat back and gave him a critical look. "Too bad you're you."

"Yeah," Gunn muttered. "I was just thinking the same thing." He raised his beer, took a sip, then lowered his bottle and said, "What if I wasn't?"

Cordelia gave him a long look. "Hmm. Well." She raised a hand to touch the chain of the silver cross she wore around her neck. "I think this is a little tangled up. Can you -?" Cordelia slid off the barstool and stepped toward him. She bent her head down and pulled the hair away from the back of her long neck. Reaching over, she pressed the fingers of her free hand into his palm. "If you could just – " She guided his touch until it rested against her skin, and controlled her breathing as he straightened the chain.

"Better?" Gunn asked, fixing puzzled eyes on her.

She rested her elbows against the tabletop and arched her back to emphasize the way the cross fell between her breasts. In a throaty voice, she said, "Much." Then she reached over and smacked his arm. "That's what I'd do," she smirked, "if you weren't you."

"Too bad I am. Because if I wasn't, I'd ask you to dance."

"Oh, really?" Cordelia jutted a hip, and snapped her fingers, backing toward the dance floor. "I guess I'll have to go without you." She spun on her heels and started to move with the music. Across the room, a cherub-faced blonde boy caught her eye.. He must have gotten in with his own fake ID. A good early victim. When Cordelia nodded at him, he pointed to himself and mouthed, "Me?" _God,_ Cordelia thought, _was I ever that young?_ She beckoned, and he started dancing toward her.

The kid was only halfway across the floor, though, when his eyes fixed something behind her. He danced in another direction, as a hand fell on Cordelia's shoulder. She leaned into Gunn's chest and rubbed her back to his hard stomach. His arm circled her, tightening just below her breasts. She tilted her chin to hiss up at him. "Fucking cock block."

"Boy like that, girl like you," he murmured in her ear. "Baby Jesus cries."

Gunn spun her around and they started to dance. He moved fast and clearly didn't expect her to be able to keep up. She wondered exactly what he thought four years of varsity cheerleading involved. Every step he did, she could imitate, adding in twists of her own. Soon they were taking turns, challenging each other, and a crowd was forming around them. Cordelia felt a little thrill. This wasn't the Bronze, but she and Gunn _were_ the center of attention. And it wasn't because she was pep squad captain or her father had money or even because people were afraid of her wrath – though those things had been fun, especially the inspiring-fear part. No, they were just two pretty people who knew how to dance, and tonight that was all that mattered.

Occasionally another boy cut in, and Cordelia took him on. Then she would go back to see Gunn getting his groove on with a circle of girls – which figured. But as they night went on, they kept coming back to each other. Once they had stretched their dance muscles way past endurance, she found herself leaning back into his arms. The music was fast, but they moved slowly, swaying to a beat of their own.

"So," Gunn murmured in her ear, "if we weren't us, I'd say we had a pretty good time."

"If I wasn't me.–" Cordelia ran the back of her hand along the line of his jaw. "I'd say your place or mine."

"And I'd say –" He tilted his head down and whispered in her ear. "What are we waiting for?"

*

At the moment, Cordelia was waiting for Gunn to unfasten a series of industrial-looking locks. Meanwhile, she read the writing on the wall. Literally: GUNN'S PLACE. DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!-- scrawled by the door in heavy black marker.

"Isn't that kind of tempting fate?" she asked.

Gunn pushed the door open with his knee and let her walk in before him. "People around here know me." He grinned. "Non-people do too. I thought I'd give 'em fair warning, they're stupid enough to try anything. It's worked so far. No uninvited guests."

"Hmmm," Cordelia looked around. In one corner, a modest-sized television sat on the floor with a rabbit ear antenna on top, and a Play Station to one side. Cases for games and DVDs lay scattered over the threadbare carpet. A few pillows were strewn in front of the television, and a couple heavy wooden chairs stood in the middle of the floor. Empty beer bottles settled around them, in the configuration of the last people who had been there. "So it's supposed to look like this?"

"It's worked so far. Just --" He stooped to pick up a couple bottles with each hand, clinking them together, then ducked into the small kitchen to set them on the counter. He leaned down to brush her forehead with his lips. Cordelia looked up and met his eyes. They had shared a few shallow teasing kisses in the way from the club, but those had felt playful – an extension of the dance. Now she wondered –

Gunn reached down and snapped the spaghetti strap of her tank top. "Stay here a sec." Ducking away from her, he moved out of the kitchen, to a door that she guessed would lead to the bedroom. "I don't remember what kind of mess I left in here."

Cordelia smiled to herself, and walked back into the living room. "Somehow I always thought –" she called. "That you'd have this wicked phat bachelor pad for all your honeys."

The response that traveled back to her sounded something like a snort. She leaned down to pick an empty CD case off one of the chairs. "And if you're going in there to start playing. . ." She made a face as she read the title. "_Jazz 4 Lovers_?" she called, "This is so gonna be over before it starts."

"That shit is Rondell's," Gunn called, coming out of the bedroom.

"I'm not even going to –" she turned, pulled up short, and swallowed - "ask." Gunn had stripped out of his T-shirt and taken off his shoes. Loose jeans hung around his hips, showing the line of his boxer shorts. _So when we call you the muscle,_ Cordelia thought, _Those would be the muscles we're talking about."_

Gunn took the CD case from her and tossed it on the floor. "Rondell," he repeated. "Fool picked that up down in the discount bin at Rite Aid for $4.99." He stepped toward her, hand resting on her collarbone. "Acted like he never heard a saxophone before." The other hand brushed hair from her neck. He had slapped on some kind of cologne. "I tried to set him straight, sent him home with some Coltrane and Sonny and –" He bent his neck, she stood on her toes, and their mouths met in a hard, deep kiss. Cordelia pushed her breasts against Gunn's sweat-beaded chest, all the time straining upward to trace his lips with the end of her tongue. Gunn reached down until she felt the flat of his hand through her bra. Cordelia gasped as her nipple hardened.

"God, Gunn." She stretched onto her tiptoes to kiss his chin, letting his palm rub against her breast as she moved. "God, but you're tall."

"I didn't do it on purpose," Gunn laughed. He bent his neck and started to kiss her again.  
Then he stopped and before Cordelia knew it, he was on his knees, hands moving over her hipbones. He found the zipper of her skirt with suspicious ease, then stripped away the red silk panties and pressed his lips to the _luck_ tattoo. "Somebody," he murmured as she felt the warm moisture on her skin, "is getting damn lucky tonight."

Cordelia touched her hand to his forehead and rubbed back along his smooth-shaven scalp. "You better mean you."

"_Damn_ right I mean me." Cordelia felt his breath on her thighs. When the tip of his tongue found her clit, she let out a sharp breath and arched against the wall. He seemed to move with the double-time rhythm of her heartbeat.

"Gunn," she finally gasped.

His mouth slipped from her, but he moved the tips of two fingers into its place.

"I need something hard," she said.

The fingers moved in deeper. "Like that?"

"No!" He started to pull out, and she tightened around him, sending another jolt through her body. "Yes! But no – I need. . ."

"You shy all of a sudden?" He brushed his lips against the smooth skin of her stomach. "You were saying it all night at the club."

"You want me to talk dirty to you?" Cordelia was breathing hard, but still had enough composure to tilt her head and look down at the kneeling Gunn. "Fine, I want your cock," she said, and, in a sing-song voice, "I want you to fuck me with your great big –" Then he rose and saw that he had already shed his pants and boxers. She swallowed. "Now you're going to tell me you didn't you do _that_ on purpose, either?"

"I guess you helped a little."

She lowered her hand to guided the head against the inside of her thigh. Gunn shivered as Cordelia, feeling perilously close to her own climax, leaned up to kiss him again. "You're still too tall."

Pressing lips to her neck, he said, "I got a bed, you know."

"Who needs a bed?" she teased, speaking lightly, even as she thought. . .

Going to bed with a friend would mean seeing the things he saw when he lay down every night. It would mean smelling his fabric softener and the sweet and sour sauce he spilled when he felt like eating his takeout lying down because nobody told him he couldn't. It would mean hearing him breathe while you fell asleep and trying not to think about what all of this would mean in the morning. Going to bed with a friend would mean not just fucking but making love or feeling like you should be making love.

Hand jobs in janitor's closets – those she could manage. Dry humping at Lookout Point and hoping for no werewolves -- she was a pro. But Cordelia was pretty sure she sucked at making love.

Anyway, she didn't want to test that theory tonight.

Instead, she nudged him toward one of the chairs. He sat, using his feet to slide until the chair back was braced against the wall. Cordelia placed a leg on each side and perched her thighs on his knees. Gunn reached down to touch her again, fingers starting a slow circle around her clit. She planted her feet on the floor and pushed harder against his hand. Keeping a steady, gentle pressure on his cock, she raised kissed the smooth skin of his scalp.

"Cordelia?" he whispered, "you want?"

"Yes."

"My jeans – on the floor -- in the pocket –"

She remembered his quick trip to the bedroom; he hadn't planned to get back there either. "Fine, smooth guy."

Cordelia ripped the condom wrapper open with her teeth, but she stood over him and looked at the ceiling while he put it on himself.

"This is the part that makes you squirm?" he asked.

"I once had a vision of a slime demon spawning and it looked a lot like stretching latex." Meanwhile, she was trying to figure out the precise mechanics of the situation. Of course, she'd been on top before. More or less. In cars, not chairs, and minus the penetration. But she was pretty sure she'd seen this in a movie. It wasn't exactly neurosurgery, right?

She straddled his thighs, lifting his cock again and drew in a breath.

"You've done something like this before?" Gunn asked.

_Great, Cordy. You're not at all obvious._ "It's not like I'm gonna break it," she snapped.

"Just asking," Gunn laughed, then said, "Damn girl," as Cordelia slid down around him. She felt the familiar uneasiness of intrusion and then, as she pushed him in deeper, a moment of blinding pain.

"Oh, holy fuck!" Fighting the instinct to jerk away, she inhaled and pushed herself off, steadying him with her hand.

Gunn touched her chin. "You all right?"

"Either I'm having visions with my cervix now," she gasped, "or I did something wrong there." Now Gunn started to laugh, and, after taking a second to consider moving her hand up a little further and squeezing hard, she laughed too. "Maybe I don't exactly know what I'm doing."

"Hey," he said softly. "If you want, we can –" He ran a hand down her back. "I do have a bed."

"No," Cordelia said firmly. They were here to have fun. She wasn't ready to confuse things by lying down with him. Besides, Cordelia Chase was a problem solver.

"I think I got it this time." Catching his eyes, she said, "Don't you think?"

Gunn bit his lip but she felt his chest shake with suppressed laughter. "Look," he said, "I've never done what you're doing either, but – " He pushed his hips forward, letting her guide his cock with her hand.

She slid him inside her, slowly this time. "God," she gasped. "This is work."

"Yeah," Gunn laughed. "Tell me about it," and she was pretty much forced to smack him on the head.

This only made him laugh harder, and she said, "Well then why –oh God!" Moving over him, slowly, she felt the pressure against her – was that where her G-spot was? "Oh God oh God – never mind my – oh God – question." Their sharp breaths fell into an alternating rhythm, until she felt the sensation build up in her toes and fingers. Finally, she surrendered to the spasm that ran through her body.

"All right?" Gunn gasped, and a moment later, she felt him surge and release.

When she moved off the chair, she stepped on a CD case, kicked it into a pile of play station games, and turned to glare at Gunn.

He held a hand to his mouth and wisely stifled a laugh. "I'm sorry," he said.

"You have a hot shower?" she asked.

"Shower's back there." Gunn pointed. "'Course, getting the hot water to work is a little tricky." He smiled. "If you want, I could show you how it works." He walked up behind her and placed his chin on her shoulder. "You feeling okay about this?"

Her back was sore, her breasts ached, and she was afraid the headache was starting to come back. She weighed all that against Gunn -- taking her out because she had a hissy fit, chasing off eligible men, dancing with her until their feet ached, taking her home and -- why did she keep thinking of this stupid phrase? -- fucking her with his big cock, offering her his shower. And, even though Gunn couldn't see her face, she smiled. "More than okay." Cordelia put a hand to the tattoo on her hip. "I feel lucky."


End file.
